


Our Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms

by AurigaVenatici (p_3a), Kilieit (p_3a)



Series: My Warrior Of Light Screws All The Cute Ones [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Background Character Death, Blood and Violence, Dom/sub, Don't Judge Me, Hallucinations, Other, Overstimulation, Partial Mind Control, Vaginal Fingering, aftercare by third party, clitoral stimulation, literally it's just rule 34 don't let the word count fool you, loss of consciousness, minimal foreplay, more exposition than rule 34 fic ever deserved, patch 3.0: heavensward, warrior of light backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/AurigaVenatici, https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/Kilieit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based around, therefore spoilers for + assumes pre-knowledge of, everything in the DRK quest chain up to 45: Declaration of Blood.<br/>Spoilers for Heavensward MSQ up to the Vault.<br/>Spoilers implied for DRK 50: Our Answer, as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Declaration of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Smut is in chapter 3.
> 
> In my humble opinion as the author, it's the best thing about this fic, so you can skip right there if you want and I won't even be mad.
> 
> Chapter 1 is mostly backstory exposition for my WoL, chapter 2 is mostly recapping DRK 45: Declaration of Blood from my WoL's point of view.

Aghurlal Qar-aKimusun had known Fray for moons, now.

He had met them when he had been in Ishgard for barely a week. There had been a fight, and a loss, and a corpse… and then the Soul Crystal. A frightened maid. A dozen dead Temple Knights, and a bloody lance in Aghurlal's hands. He remembered using a new style to fight with - all offense, with none of the finesse he usually commanded. And then there had been Fray.

He didn't remember passing out, but he remembered waking up in the Brume, gently shaken 'to by one of his fellow Warriors of Light. She asked if he was alright. He'd lied.

That wasn't the beginning.

The truth was, what happened in the Brume that day was truer to Aghurlal's nature than anything else he'd done since being given that name. "Warrior of Light". He wasn't _anything_ of Light, where he came from. His was a tribe of spies and assassins - the Isüsiregen. They would infiltrate their target group, determine if they had any assets of value, and then steal or kill to take it.

From when he was a child, Aghurlal hadn't been the same. He'd been too sensitive, too squeamish; too soft. Too comfortable with outsiders. Too cowardly with his blades.

It hadn't lasted. The longer his stubborn refusal to participate in the tribe's violent traditions went on, the harsher his punishments became. This was where his nature began to change. Instead of shying away from violence, he began to embrace it - and direct it back at the very people who had taught it to him. He hated them; he hated what they did, to him and to outsiders. They were rotten, all of them. And Aghurlal could only see one way to move forward.

He took his blades in the night and he ended the problem. He knew none others would take him after such an act, and he had little taste for staying besides - so he took his own tribe name, a new name, and fled far from Othard. Far across the sea, to Eorzea.

Eorzea. He'd settled in Limsa Lominsa and made a home for himself. He'd learned so many new things; how to live without hurting others, how to respect their culture and space, how to defend it with his skills. How to be a lover; a husband. How to be a hero. How to be a _Warrior of Light_ . He'd joined a company - the Eidolons - and they'd become Hydaelyn's chosen together. They were the candles in the darkness. It was their jobs, _Aghurlal's_ job, to protect Her inhabitants. He had come so far since Othard that sometimes his past slipped his mind completely. He was almost a completely different person…

...except when he wasn't. Except when his old ways of coping crept back in. He'd almost killed a friend, once. Twice. He'd screamed at people. Lashed out. It wasn't becoming of a Warrior of Light any more than it was of a friend, and it shamed him and the Scions both.

And then…

And then there was Fray.

" _The threshold we refuse to cross is a line we drew for ourselves_ ," they had said. " _We fear the consequences, and people suffer for our indecision. Everyone who held that soul crystal came to conquer that fear, and became who they wanted to be. That knight I told you about was the first. Will you be the next?_ "

"I crossed that line before I ever stepped foot in Eorzea," Aghurlal had responded; his namesake fury dancing in his eyes.

Fray helped. Before, Aghurlal's darkside had been erratic and untrained. It had always been present, ever since the first time that frightened little xaela had returned his older brother's punch with one of his own. It had come in fits and starts, sometimes at the wrong place or time - and, too often, it had almost resulted in unnecessary deaths. But now, Fray was teaching him to control it. To guide it. To keep it down, or to amplify it. To utilise it to achieve what _Aghurlal_ wanted.

Which, in fairness, was usually to kill evil people.

As time went by, that annoyed Fray more and more. Aghurlal could tell. They would ask Aghurlal why he wanted to protect people who should have protected themselves; why he put himself on the line for them when he should be protecting himself. Taking _care_ of himself. Usually, Aghurlal had an answer: because it's what we do. It's who we are. But sometimes, just sometimes, covered in blood and close to collapse, he couldn't bring himself to say.

Time went on. They unravelled Ishgard's mysteries, Aghurlal and his fellow Warriors of Light; and almost every week, he sought out Fray for training. Sometimes, they'd just talk. Other times, Fray would tell Aghurlal to meet him somewhere. They would perform the blood rites. Communion. And Aghurlal would leave again, back to his duties; sometimes feeling a little better, sometimes a little worse. Always feeling different, though. And always eager for his next session.

The months went by. Things in Ishgard got tenser. But Fray began to… well, Aghurlal wondered if they weren't ill. They were weak after blood rites, weak after communion… when the time came for the Warriors of Light to storm the Vault, as Aghurlal always suspected they would, he couldn't find Fray anywhere. They went without them.

He found them afterwards.

They said they were disappointed.

"You haven't heard the voice since our last communion, which means you haven't taken my lessons to heart."  
Aghurlal didn't know what to say. They'd-- They'd stormed one of Ishgard's most heavily fortified buildings. They'd organised an armed revolution. They'd defeated a _quarter of the Heavens' Ward_. They'd… they'd almost…

Fray continued. "You know I'm trying to help you, don't you? All of this is for your benefit. You listen, but you don't _understand_ ─"  
" _Shut up_!" Aghurlal spat. "Where _were_ you earlier?! We-- _I_ \--"

Aghurlal trailed off, at a loss for what to say. Despite his outburst, Fray had barely flinched.

"...But you don't understand. Never mind. You're the stubborn type; I know that. We'll just have to keep at it until you open your eyes."

Aghurlal scowled.

"Moraby Drydocks. That's where we'll head next."

Fine. Moraby Drydocks it was. At least he'd get to see Vylbrand again after so long trapped on the mainland.


	2. Declaration of Will

 

It was a bright, clear day, the sea gently chopping with just enough wind to get the ferry to the drydocks in good time. Aghurlal had a hunch about where Fray would be waiting - and he was right. He remembered this part of the bay. It was where the landing boat had taken them to the  _ Whorleater _ .

"...Never much cared for the ocean, myself," Fray said. Aghurlal frowned.

Fray explained a time they were here before. They were with a friend; a fool. They'd done something ridiculous together.

Aghurlal's patience with Fray was short this day. He couldn't help but strain to remember if there hadn't been a short knight in black robes on board the  _ Whorleater _ with him and the Eidolons; but at the end of the day, it didn't matter. They were supposed to be here for a  _ reason _ , and Aghurlal was about to demand that Fray stop waxing lyrical and get on with it… when both of them were interrupted.

A merchant. And the Sergeant-- what was her name? Aghurlal usually relied on his husband to remember these things. It was times like this he wished Shirogawa came with him on these trips. But somehow… he didn't want him to see the state he was always in after the blood rites.

They recognised Aghurlal. Because of course they did. Bah; the face-mask he wore on these expeditions was useless on its own. He'd have to start hiding his horns and tail, wouldn't he? Only that would muffle his hearing; impede his balance. No good for blood rites.

He barely paid attention to any of what either of them were saying until after it was clear he was being asked for help with something. The Sergeant looked anxious, somehow; and the merchant was staring imploringly, making motions with his hands as if he were crying like Aghurlal couldn't see that his eyes were entirely dry.

"Isn't theft usually within the City's purview?" Aghurlal asked, his tail-tip twitching. He wasn't here to do a job like this; not today. Not without having been assigned it through the Rogues' Guild. He'd never asked to be approached like this.   
Fray continued. "Go and bother the Yellowjackets. I seek worthy prey, not a gang of rats."   
But both sets of eyes stayed trained on Aghurlal, as if his was the only word that mattered.

He ended up agreeing to help. Again.  _ Because that's what we do. _

Predictably, Fray wasn't happy. Today, his temper and empathy both short, Aghurlal didn't understand why. They'd come here to kill something, hadn't they? They'd performed the rites with piestes and amalj'aa before. Qiqirn thieves were close enough between the two - not sworn enemies of Aghurlal's as the amalj'aa had been, but nor blind animals as the piestes. That killing them happened to help someone else along the way was largely incidental.

They confronted the qiqirn. They weren't pleased about being asked to return the goods. The simple request was met with violence - and Aghurlal saw fit only to return the impolite favour.

He wrapped both hands around the shaft of his lance, then shifted his stance. He wasn't fighting as a lancer, this day. He wasn't even fighting as a dragoon - a thousand drills with Alberic and a hundred nights spent tossing with visions of the Eye of Nidhogg meant nothing at this moment in time. Lance or greatsword, he was to fight as a  _ dark knight _ .

He swung his lance forward, bladed edge first.

He perceived two things. He always did, when he went out to pay a blood price. The rest of the world melted away, and all the inconsequential details vanished; details of what he was doing, why, for whom, and what effect it was having.

He was left with the blood. The blood he spilled with his lance; the way it arced and danced and sang. The blood he spilled for his enemies; each cut and graze and bruise breathing like it was taking on its own, gasping and living and dying as Fray's magic soothed them back away again. The blood dripping down his armour. Down his face. Between his lips.

And he was left with his feelings. Not his thoughts; not his emotions, even. Just the feeling of the dirt under his feet. The cool titanium between his hands. The way every heavy breath passed his lips - fast and soft. His heart pounding, the sound resonating in his horns and drowning out everything else. The resistance his blade met - and then not. The ease with which he brought the lance about in arc after swing after thrust… and then not.

This must be what Fray meant by seeing him come alive.

Was it?

Aghurlal slung the bloodied weapon over his back and hefted the stolen crates into his arms. Turning back to the drydocks, he--

Fray… was not well. Again.

This was the weakest Aghurlal had ever seen them, so far. They were almost collapsed on the ground, wheezing heavily, hand clutched to their chest - but when Aghurlal approached, Fray cut across before he could say anything.

"Heh...heh... You did well... All that's left...is to return the goods to their owner…"   
"Fray, I don't--"   
"...Finish it... Finish what we started…"   
"I don't want to leave you here by yourself! You're  _ clearly _ injured; piss on the damn crates, I want to know if you're all right! You always get on my back so much for not taking care of myself..."   
"The hard part is over…" They lifted their head, their cold gaze meeting Aghurlal's. "Now finish it…"

Temper swelled in Aghurlal's heart. He growled in frustration, even stamped his foot; but stormed off, as Fray seemed to want, in the direction of the awaiting merchant.


	3. Declaration of Flesh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aghurlal is a trans man; Fray's genitals aren't mentioned.
> 
> Shirogawa belongs to tumblr user dualscar, and his dialogue was written by them.

The merchant wasn't pleased.

There was blood on the crates. Blood on the wares. What was the point of recovering it if he couldn't sell it afterwards, he said? How was he supposed to make his living now?

Aghurlal gritted his teeth. He _knew_ he should have called his husband to deal with this.

Oh, but the merchant went on, didn't he? Because _of course he did_ . For the damage to the goods, he wanted… paying. _He_ wanted paying. For-- Aghurlal let very slow breath out. Did he know how much it usually cost, to hire a Warrior of Light? For the convenience of obtaining blood price, Aghurlal had been prepared to let the issue of payment go, but _now_ …

"You want paying? _You_ want paying?!"

It wasn't Aghurlal's voice that spoke the thoughts; it was _Fray's_.

"I slaughter a gang of Qiqirn bandits for your precious goods and this is the thanks I receive!? You spineless sack of shite. I kill your enemies. I fetch your things. I do what you people can't or won't do yourselves."

The Sergeant glanced anxiously between merchant and Warrior, but said nothing.

"You're helpless. Weak. All you do is want and need. I should've left you all to drown in Leviathan's tidal wave. At least then I would've been spared your _constant_ bloody whining."

That shocked Aghurlal-- Twelve above, so Fray _had_ been on the ship?! And to say such a thing… Aghurlal had been frustrated as well after the confrontation with Leviathan, but he had never wished… …had he..?

"Do not speak to me of this ever again."

Silence hung over their gathering.

But it wasn't Fray they were all staring at… it was _Aghurlal_.

"Lieutenant Qar-aKimusun, sir, I…" The Sergeant stepped forward, between the terrified merchant and Aghurlal. Aghurlal glanced behind himself; Fray was there, scowling, but the Sergeant didn't seem interested in them at all. "You have every right to be upset, but...I think he understands, sir."  
"Why are you talking to _me_?" Aghurlal asked, dumbfounded. "I--"

Fray tugged at his arm. Time to go, he supposed; before the blood price faded, and communion became useless.

"Sorry for wasting your time," said the Warrior of Light.

He turned on his heel and followed after Fray's brisk pace.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Aghurlal couldn't hold back with his questions any more. "Fray! What buggery was that?! You never told me you were-- You never tell me _anything_ ! Slow down and let me _talk_ to you, you fool! Something's clearly the matter--"   
Suddenly Fray _did_ turn, and put their hand on Aghurlal's chest to stop him from marching right into them. The gesture was surprisingly gentle. But they refused eye contact; their head bowed, their eyes watching the sea on the docks beneath them. "...we can't keep doing this, Aghurlal."   
"What? No. No more riddles! Just explain!"   
"You must see now what it's doing to us… What _they're_ doing to us… these… these _people_ …"

Sympathy suddenly swelled in Aghurlal's chest. He brought a hand up to rest, equally softly, on Fray's shoulder. "It… they…" He shook his head. "Who do we want to _be_ , Fray?"   
Aghurlal was met with silence.   
"...because if we want to be a hero… the Warrior of Light… then we _must_ . Our duty is to…"   
More silence. Fray lifted their gaze once more, meeting Aghurlal's; their expression impossible to read, even when accounting for their mostly-hidden face.

"We came here for communion, didn't we?" Aghurlal eventually said. "And now we can take it."  
"Yes… yes, you are right." Fray sighed. "You must hearken to the voice's words and discover your true calling. You are close, Aghurlal-- so very, very close… I wish I could tell you. I wish I could make you see. But all I can do is guide you on your journey…"   
"I'm still more worried about you," Aghurlal frowned. "You won't tell me what's the matter. You're clearly… ill, or weak, or…"   
"None of that matters. All that--"   
"It matters to _me_ ! I don't like to see you suffer!"   
"Never mind that! You--"

Fray silenced themself mid-sentence.

Aghurlal wrapped his arms tighter around them. His cheek pressed against the spikes on their crown, but he didn't care; his scales took the worst of the edge off. Fray felt… cold, somehow… like…

Like…

Aghurlal felt the reality of the situation was begin to dawn on him. But perhaps… perhaps he didn't want to accept it. Not right now. Not for… for one more…

"I know what you're going to say," Fray said. Their hands stayed by their own sides, but they did not resist the hug. "You want me to stay."  
"Of course I do." Aghurlal pulled back just enough to look at their eyes, his hands resting on their upper arms.   
"But you know what _I'm_ going to say."   
Aghurlal swallowed. He did.   
"Listen. There are other lands than these, Aghurlal - lands where we are not known. Ask, and we shall quit this place forever."   
It was Aghurlal's turn to be silenced.   
"Only when you have renounced everything are you free to do anything."   
"I know," said not a Warrior of Light, but the child of the Isüsiregen. But he couldn't do this again. He had… He had a _husband_ , he had friends, he had… he had things to fight for, things _worth_ fighting for…

And he had Fray. At least for tonight.

Without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the grill of their helmet.

He pulled back and Fray's eyes burned into his. He knew that was probably out of line. His years in Eorzea had taught him to ask for this sort of thing, and he hadn't asked Fray at all. Maybe this would be the last time he'd see them… and maybe this would be why.

Fray grabbed his wrist. Aghurlal half expected to be tossed to the ground in a nonchalant gesture contrary to Fray's apparent weakness.

But Fray began to lead Aghurlal by the arm; taking off across the docks, back up the ramp and towards the main office. But with a quick glance either way, they took a sharp turn, and instead dragged Aghurlal off to the side - then down a steep drop of about six feet. Aghurlal messed up the landing up - how could he _not_ , with one arm of his practically arrested by his suddenly ardent companion? - but while he was stumbling to regain his balance, he found himself face-to-face with Fray.

Fray who was now holding him. And-- had one hand firmly on his arse. Aghurlal could feel it even through his armour. _What?_

He glanced around; they'd tugged him down into the alleyway between the offices of Naldiq and Vymelli's and the crane tower. They could see the street, but unless someone was looking, they wouldn't see either of the dark knights - tucked down between crates and stubborn weeds as they were.

"What," Aghurlal said, conscious of his close his face was to Fray's, "in all _seven hells_ are you doing?"   
"Don't pretend that kiss was all you wanted," Fray retorted. Their tone of voice was as unreadable as their face.   
"...it wasn't." Aghurlal frowned. "What about communion?"   
Fray tugged him closer, pressing their bodies together. They were so cold… so…

Their voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "We can do communion like this."  
Aghurlal stared. "You're joking."   
"You'll know when I'm _joking_ ."   
"With-- with--"   
"Intimacy, yes." Fray pushed him back against the wall with one hand.   
"Ah…"   
"You have reservations?"   
"No." No. _Gods_ , no, he didn't. He _should_ … but…

Aghurlal's pounding heartbeat resonated through his horns. He felt his belt fall loose. Fray didn't waste any time, did they? He expected an immediate grab for his crotch, but instead Fray - pressing up against Aghurlal chest-to-chest - hooked their thumbs under Aghurlal's waistband and teased his trousers down, gently stroking his tail free of his underwear.

Aghurlal didn't know where to put his hands. Was it all right to undress Fray? He gasped as their hands seized his hips, leather-covered fingertips digging in and pulling his now-bare crotch flush with their thigh. Their eyes bored into his. He shivered.

"I need you to breathe deep," Fray murmured. "And I need you to trust me."

Those words could so easily sound demanding or even patronising, but they didn't. Fray was speaking softly, almost ( _almost_ ) gently - and they waited for Aghurlal to nod before they continued.

"I'm going to give you what you need."

Again, they waited for another nod - their gaze simmering as they watched his face.

Aghurlal gave it to them.

All at once, Aghurlal was flipped around. His hips were yanked back, then his head pressed down until he was kneeling, arse-up, with Fray behind him. Their hand stayed fisted in his hair, pressing his face down into the grass. The scent of La Noscea filled his senses as he breathed in, slow, like Fray had asked - but he couldn't help but muffle a gasp as their leather-clad fingers slid up against his entrance.

One hand clutching at the dirt, he moved the other to cover his mouth. He could feel he was already wet, and although Fray's rough touches should have had the opposite effect, he was only becoming moreso. The hand in his hair tugged back sharply, but at the same time, Fray gently guided his tail to curl around his own leg - so it was out of the way.  
  
"What…" Aghurlal breathed in and tried to sit up a little so he could look back at them, but they just pushed him back down into the grass. "What are you going to do?"   
Fray didn't respond. _I need you to trust me._   
...right. Trust. Fray had never lead him astray before… and it seemed unlikely they would do something to permanently harm their favoured pupil. Surely.

Fray's fingers slipped along Aghurlal's entrance again. This time, the tip of one dipped just inside, wetting itself before beginning another stroke - this time focussed right on Aghurlal's most sensitive spot. He cried out, barely reacting in time to muffle the sound, and shuddered as Fray stroked at it persistently. His scalp stung, he was fairly certain he'd have at least a bruise on his cheek, his backside was cold from exposure to the night air… but his thoughts emptied completely of everything but the tingling warmth spreading from every one of Fray's touches.

He felt vulnerable; raw. Part of him was terrified of this - set on-edge by the roughness and how much it reminded him of something else, some _where_ else. But he remembered Fray's words. _Breathe deep through your nose. Let the air fill your lungs._ He did so.

 _Then let it pass from your lips. Slower, slower…_ Despite the way Fray's movements were quickening, the leather glove slickened in its passage with Aghurlal's slickness, the pleasure from them seemed to settle into a plateau. Yet it swelled with every slow breath Aghurlal forced himself to take; with every soft sigh he gave… it grew and grew, with each breath feeding it until it blossomed from his crotch across the rest of his body. He heard himself cry out, his back stiffening and his body trembling.

But Fray wasn't done. They didn't let up at all, in fact - Aghurlal found himself struggling to keep his breathing from devolving into fast panting as they continued to stroke at him, continued to increase their pace. It was too much, it was-- he couldn't take it--  
  
"Breathe," said Fray, petting Aghurlal's head a little.

Aghurlal took a gasp of air and forced himself to breathe it out slowly.

The pleasure settled, again. It was greater this time, constantly threatening to overwhelm his self-control at a moment's notice - but breathing how Fray wanted him to, _slower, slower_ , made it easier. Once again, it built and bloomed with each slow breath he made himself take; once again, it reached a peak and flattened out without release. It took longer, this time, somehow - despite the _volume_ of pleasure being greater, it somehow took just a little longer before Aghurlal had to stuff his fist in his mouth to stop himself from crying out.

Mercifully, Fray pulled back their attentions this time. Occasional, unpredictable touches at his clit kept him on-edge as metal clinked behind him - the sound of something dropping into the grass, and then…

All at once, Fray pushed two leather-bound fingers deep past Aghurlal's entrance. He saw _stars_ . _Breathe deep through your nose._ Fray was relentless once more - their fingers seemed to know just where to press, just how to ride the waves of pleasure Aghurlal was experiencing to ever-greater heights. _Slower, slower…_ He came _hard_ , barely conscious of his surroundings, of the street above them - in fact, Fray had to press his head into the dirt to stop him from crying out.

But they didn't stop.

This must have been what Fray had wanted. His senses aflame, his heartbeat thrumming in time with Fray's fingers, with his pleasure, with their shared soul crystal. This must have been what they meant by _intimacy_ \- this feeling of being in Fray's hands entirely; of _needing_ them to continue, to see this to its end. What they needed, to be able to give him his communion, this day… once again, the tension built, ever-tighter in his stomach. He bit into his forearm hard, tasting blood, to silence himself. This was far greater than what he'd felt so far - far greater than _anything_ he'd felt before. It was going to destroy him, wasn't it? This burgeoning passion, threatening to overtake him… but Fray's hand was there, soft in his hair, ever-present and ever-patient. Fray _helped_.

With every breath, Aghurlal grew lighter… and as the orgasm overtook him, he slipped deep into the abyss.

 _A chorus of voices cries out for a hero, and he comes._  
_He smiles. He nods. And he remains silent... But he too has a voice..._ _  
I will be heard…_

Slowly, slowly, he came back around.

He was alone.

His head was spinning. Where was-- Where was Fray? All he could find was the dark knight soul crystal they shared, clutched in his hand - when had that got there? And-- Gods, haha, his…

He pulled his trousers up and sat up against the wall. He was _exhausted_. Satisfied, but exhausted. Yet he knew he had to get to a bed… had to set his thoughts back on track, somehow. And Fray wasn't here… Fray would…

He shook his head. He couldn't rely on Fray. As much as… as much as he wanted to. There was only one person he could think to contact. He fumbled awkwardly for the linkpearl hanging from his horn, then focussed on the right aether signature.

"Shirogawa?"  
"-- Aghurlal?" came his husband's voice over the linkpearl. He was always so concerned; so loving… "Are you all right?"  
"Y... Yes. I'm fine." He did his best to keep his voice steady. "Can… can you come and get me?"   
"Of course. Do you need anything before I come to you?"   
"Just..." He breathed out. "Bring water. I just want to go home."   
"Hmm. I will be sure to do both," Shirogawa promised.

The linkpearl connection faded, and after a few moments, Aghurlal felt the familiar tug on his aether which meant his husband was about to use him as a teleporting waypoint. They had long grown familiar enough with one another to do this… he wondered, idly, if he'd ever _truly_ be able to do what Fray had asked of him, with his soul this intertwined with another's.

He'd almost fallen asleep by the time Shirogawa appeared in front of him. He took one look at Aghurlal - still covered in blood from his altercation with the qiqirn hours before, still dishevelled after his unorthodox communion - and rushed over, collapsing on his knees before him.

" _You said you were fine!_ "   
"I--" He looked up at his husband; the raen's face was overflowing with concern.   
"What happened to you?! Were you-- Were you hurt? Worse?! Is-- That's _your_ blood?!"   
"No! It-- I fought a qiqirn," Aghurlal explained lamely. "Maybe… maybe twelve qiqirn. I'm fine, really…"   
"Twelve qiqirn wouldn't exhaust you out like this," Shirogawa pointed out. "I've fought beside you before. I know your limits better than you do at times…" 

"Please... no more questions." Aghurlal's eyes slipped shut, but he beckoned with his hand, then patted the ground beside him. He knew he was being evasive, but… he was tired. He'd explain… or not… later. Shirogawa frowned, but moved to sit beside Aghurlal nontheless.

He was gentle. He passed Aghurlal the water-skin; Aghurlal downed most of it, but left some in case Shirogawa wanted it. Just a small habit he'd picked up. Just as softly, Shirogawa moved in and wrapped his arms around Aghurlal - not shy about the blood - and held him.

Aghurlal leant on his husband, breathing out slowly. Then in. He always smelled so…

He smelled like home. That's what.

He knew what he would have to tell Fray.


End file.
